To Kill a Mockingbird The Final Chapter
by TesubCalle
Summary: Ever wonder what happened during the deliberation of Tom Robinson's trial? Scout sure did in this grade 10 tale I wrote in response to a selfappointed and teacherapproved challenge for an English assignment.


**To Kill a Mockingbird**

**Disclaimer**: All 'To Kill a Mockingbird' characters belong to Harper Lee. I just borrowed them many moons ago for a grade 10 English project, and I believe it now makes a pretty good fan fic. Re-edited to reflect my present-day writing style. Changes from my original text, however, are quite superficial. Enjoy. Do NOT plagiarize. This was my own original idea, and I am very proud of it and the resulting 100 grade received. Do not be so foul and deceitful as to take it and use it as your own.

To Kill a Mockingbird: The final chapter

After a couple weeks had gone by, and Jem's arm had begun to heal up, things settled down to their normal ways. The days were unusually warm for the approaching winter, children went to school, Atticus went to work, and Jem kept pestering me to tell him again what had happened the night he broke his arm.

The memory of Tom Robinson was distant – even Atticus seemed to forget about it, even though I had thought that the whole incident had affected him deeply. I was in the middle of thinking about asking him how he could just forget about it that easily when Miss Gates tapped a meter ruler on my desk, instantly gaining my full attention.

"Jean Louise Finch!" she stated in a clear, agitated tone. A few of the children giggled. "I have been trying to gain your attention for the past five minutes. Now, would you please present to the class your article for Current Events?"

"Yes, ma'am," I said to my desk. "Sorry, ma'am." Miss Gates seemed satisfied with my apology, and waited as I pulled out the piece of paper I had snipped from the newspaper. It was the last period of the day; thankfully, I wanted to go home.

When Atticus arrived home, I ran out to greet him. He slowly walked up to me and swept me up into his arms for a brief hug. Groaning, he set me down quickly, but gently.

"Now, you know your father is getting old, Scout. Soon I won't have the strength to lift you up."

"Yes, sir," I agreed, hoping the time would never come when he could not pick me up. WE walked up into the house and Aunt Alexandria greeted Atticus. Jem came out and mentioned to Atticus he was having problems with his Mathematics. He said help Jem after supper, which Calpurnia was saying was ready. I made a mad dash for the table, but Atticus stopped me before I reached.

"Uh-uh, Scout," he warned, "you know the rules. Wash your hands before coming to eat." I quietly retreated to the sink where I made a big deal out of washing up, splashing soap and water around loudly. Cal shot me a look of disapproval, but I had finished by then. Jem came up behind me, so I left the water running for him. I ran to my place at the table and waited impatiently for everybody else to come. They sat down after me and began serving themselves. I figured now would be an opportune time to ask Atticus the questions that had been burning up inside my head.

"Atticus," I said, between a mouthful of chicken, "how'd you forget about Tom Robinson so easy? I mean don't you even think about him anymore and stuff?" Atticus stopped chewing, put down his cutlery, and contemplated how he would reply.

"Well, Scout," he finally responded, "I'll tell you something. I do think about Tom. I think about his wife, Helen, and all those children she has. I think about Bob Ewell. I think about Arthur."

"But Atticus, doesn't it bother you to know you almost got Tom off?"

"I don't know that for a fact, Scout. Only the jury knows if we 'almost' got Tom off...and what went on during their deliberation is nobody's business."

"Why?" I asked.

"To ensure the fairness of the trial and to ensure everybody's right to an opinion without oppression. You see, Scout, every person is entitled to his own opinion. If the facts of the deliberation were made public, there might be some people that do not agree with the ideas and opinions expressed by the members of the jury." Atticus' tone made it clear that the discussion was closed. He had not exactly answered my first question, and he already had me pondering the answer of the second one.

Jem must have noticed me, for he told me to eat before my food got cold, and to close my mouth unless I was trying to catch flies.

I made up my mind that evening after supper that I was going to find out what went on in the deliberation room. I wasn't going to tell anybody what my plans were lest Atticus find out and put a stop to my search. I wondered that night if it burned up Jem how the jury had reached their decision. He seemed to be the one most broken of all of us with the outcome of the trial. But I didn't tell him my plans, because he would probably try to stop me himself.

"'Night, Scout," called Jem from his room.

"'Night, Jem," I replied. Tomorrow was Friday, and the next day I was going to begin looking for anybody who could tell me what people on the jury had said and thought during the discussions. I needed to know how close Atticus had come. It was a stubborn notion, defying Atticus' orders. I wondered how he could sit by and not know how close he came to acquitting Tom. But Atticus would almost always practice what he preached. If he said doing something was bad, you never caught him doing it.

We passed the Radley place as always the next morning, and for the first time, I actually looked forward to seeing it. It was no longer the frightening place Jem and I thought it was. I didn't say this to him, of course, because this would have triggered a whole new line of questioning similar to interrogation about what happened the night I actually met and spoke to Boo Radley. I should say 'Arthur'; since Atticus made it clear that we should use his proper name, even if we weren't in his presence. Jem would keep asking for the details of our rescue, but I grew tired of telling. Arthur, though he remained as elusive as he had been in the past, well, I just considered him another accepted part of our neighbourhood.

The day passed slowly at first. We learned cursive writing the whole morning, which I found intensely boring because I already knew most of it due to Atticus' instruction. Miss Gates was a little more understanding than Miss Caroline had been when she found out I could already read. Miss Gates just left me to my own devices as long as I remained attentive.

When lunchtime arrived, I ran all the way home. Jem appeared several minutes later and said his 'heys' to Cal. I was surprised to see a pan of my favourite sitting on the table.

"Cracklin' bread!" I exclaimed with glee. Cal flashed a rare smile.

"Thought you'd be pleased, Scout," she replied. She allowed me a small piece before we all gathered at the table for lunch. It was delicious.

That afternoon, when school let out for the weekend, Jem went off with some friends to Barker's Eddy for a swim. I didn't know how much swimming he'd be doing with his cast, but I assumed he had enough sense not to get it wet. I thought I'd be alone, but when I arrived, I discovered that Aunt Alexandra had a social going. Remembering my manners, I curtsied politely, said hello, and disappeared into the kitchen as fast as I could. I was getting mighty tired of those things. I viewed Aunt Alexandria as an intrusion, come to completely mess up my life. Jem wasn't any help either. I would come complaining to him, and he would invariably say: "What's the big deal, Scout? Geez, I keep tellin' you it's about time you started actin' like a girl, anyway." But this afternoon Jem wasn't there, so I went to Cal for consolation. There was some leftover bread, which she gave me with an understanding look in her eyes.

I went to my room to think when I had finished eating. Who would know what happened during the jury's deliberation? If I could find anyone, would they tell me, or would they deliver the same speech Atticus did? I could only think of one person who might very well have heard what went on, and that person probably wouldn't mind disclosing that information to me. Mr. Dolphus Raymond was outside for most of the time, and if he had wanted to, he could have listened in on the conversations. He just had to walk up under the window by the deliberation room. It would undoubtedly have been open; it was so hot that day.

Tomorrow, I decided, I would try.

The main problem, I discovered I had the next morning was not how to leave without Calpurnia's ever-present eyes following my every move, but where to find Mr. Raymond. After discovering he was not a drunk as we had originally suspected, he was no longer somebody I would avoid should I happen to encounter him.

Jem, whose arm still hadn't come out of its cast, was sitting glumly inside while all his other friends played football. He must have felt like the unluckiest boy in Maycomb to break his arm in the middle of football season. He felt for sure that the following season he would be doing much more than carrying the water buckets. This broken arm was an unwanted setback. He could not gain the practice he wanted.

Aunt Alexandra was sitting out on the porch, fanning herself. It was another unseasonably hot day in Maycomb, and I wondered if it would ever get cold again and maybe even snow. I ran down off the porch, which prompted Aunt Alexandra to repeat what she said everyday, that I was to walk quietly and make little noise as possible, and that stomping around in the fashion that I did was very unbecoming of a young lady.

"Now where are you off to, Jean Louise?" she queried.

"Nowheres," I said shyly, lest my tone betray my actual reasons for leaving the house. I knew she would be completely against me talking to Mr. Raymond.

"Well, best you stay close to home, hear?"

"Yes, ma'am," I replied, but I had already run off in the direction of Miss Maudie's house, which was close enough to home without putting Aunt Alexandra in a panic.

"Miss Maudie!" I called out. She was bending over some azaleas.

"Well, hello there, Scout!" she said cheerily, pulling herself up to her full height. "I might as well take advantage of this fine weather we're having." Since the building of her new house, Miss Maudie had not wasted a minute making her garden. It looked just as beautiful as it had before the blaze had destroyed her old house.

"Miss Maudie," I started, not knowing what else to say, "Atticus says that the general public should not know what goes on when a jury is decidin' the fate of the person on trial. Do you believe that?"

She stopped what she was doing and said: "Well, Scout, you know your father's a very wise man. Now, I can't explain it to you right, but once you get older, I reckon you'll appreciate the advice you are given by your father."

"So you agree with him?"

"Yes, indeed I do. Now how would you like a piece of cake?" I wanted one very much, thank you.

I wished Dill was with me, but he was back at Meridian, and I could not wait until the next summer for him to come with me to find out what I wanted. I walked slowly back home and found Aunt Alexandria half-asleep on the porch. It was almost lunchtime, and I considered waking her when an idea dawned on me.

Atticus would be arriving home soon from his office in town, and Mr. Raymond would probably be buying his Coca-Cola then, too. If I hurried, I might be able to find him and talk to him, and maybe – just maybe he had heard something that the members of the jury were saying to each other.

"Aunt Alexandra, can I go meet Atticus and walk home with him for lunch?"

"Hmmm?" came her reply. "Oh, just let Calpurnia know where you are going, Jean Louise, and don't talk to anybody you don't know!"

"Yes ma'am!" I cried excitedly. "Cal?" I called, "I'm goin' to meet Atticus! Aunt Alexandra's already said it's okay!"

"Jean Louise! Don't raise your voice like that. Calpurnia is not deaf. The whole neighbourhood must have heard that outburst. You go in there and apologize to her."

I slipped inside, repeated my message quietly, and apologized, not the least bit phased by my aunt's sharp tongue. Calpurnia then sent me on my way, and I tore off down the street, not heeding my aunt's protests that I should not run. I didn't care. My plan was working.

The sun overhead was beating down warmly, just enough that my brow felt damp with the effort of running so hard. Dashing past dead Mrs. Dubose's house, I recalled the night Jem, Dill and myself had made our way to town the night Tom was being held in prison. I could see the horrid building now, looking very uninviting. At the top of the hill, I spied the _Maycomb Tribune_ building on one side and Tyndal's Hardware Store on the other. People were bustling about. I say bustling because even though it was slow, it was the normal pace the people moved; you wouldn't see them moving any faster, so out of plain politeness, they bustled.

Hunched over by the large stones surrounding the courthouse square sat a figure I could not distinguish at first. When I neared, I recognized the figure to be that of Mr. Dolphus Raymond, the very person I had come looking for. Already in his 'drunken stupor', Mr. Raymond let his head sink into his chest lazily.

"Hey there, Mr. Raymond," I called softly.

"Well hey there, yourself, Miss," he said. "Ain't you s'possed to be at home right now? Your pa's bound to be comin' out pretty soon." I glanced quickly at the Maycomb Bank Building where his office sat.

"Mr. Raymond," I began, "remember that day we were outside and my friend Dill got sick an' you offered him some of your Coca-Cola?"

"Indeed I do. Hope you haven't gone around announcin' that to anyone there, now," he replied lightly.

"No sir! Not to anybody! But what I want to know is, did you just happen to hear anything the jury was sayin' that day?"

"You mean when they went in to decide that po' devil's fate?" he asked.

I nodded.

"I didn't think I'd have the stomach for it, and I know it ain't proper…but yes, I heard. And you know what?"

I didn't know what.

"It was the first time I heard anybody say something nice about a Negro. A few of them even said Tom oughta go free. Mr. Elliot Johnson in p'ticular. He was up there screamin' his head off 'bout how the Ewells didn't have one iota of evidence against Tom Robinson. A few others, Mr. Connolly and Mr. Simpson, agreed with him."

I listened intently.

"But like always, majority wins out. The rest of them came to the absurd conclusion that the public wouldn't think it proper to let a man of colour free for the kind of charges that were laid against him. They said that there'd be a public outcry, an' if the law didn't take care of Tom, a lynch mob would."

I couldn't believe it.

"They said it wasn't proper for a black man to be set free like that, 'specially if white folks was the accusers. It took 'em a while, granted, but it was eventually unanimously decided that Tom would be found guilty." Mr. Raymond shook his head. "It almost made me want to cry," he bowed his head even lower.

"Mr. Raymond, do you think Tom deserved to be treated the way he was? Atticus an' Jem an' Dill don't, an' neither do I. Lots of folks seem to think justice was served, but Atticus thinks it's getting' better. You saw how long it took them to reach their verdict."

"Yes, I did, little Miss. I almost fell asleep listening to them argue back an' forth…. it's a real shame. Those three men couldn't stand up for what they believed. That's bein' plain coward." His words had a bitter edge.

"Scout!" A loud voice from behind startled me. I turned around. It was Atticus, and I hadn't even noticed him leave his office.

"Atticus," Mr. Raymond greeted him.

"Dolphus," Atticus replied in a strained tone. "Come along, now, Scout, leave Mr. Raymond alone. It's time for you to get home."

"Yes, Atticus," I replied sullenly, like a thief caught in the act.

When we were out of earshot of Mr. Raymond, Atticus spoke:

"I don't know what you were doing out here, Scout, but I want you to leave Mr. Raymond alone."

"But Atticus," I started, realizing that if I explained that Mr. Raymond wasn't really the town drunk he made himself out to be, I'd be betraying a promise I had made.

"But what?" Atticus prompted.

"But nothing," I ended lamely. Atticus, however, wasn't going to let me off the hook so easily. "No, Scout, you were saying something…"

"I was just gonna say that I came down here to meet you an' walk home with you for lunch. You can even ask Cal an' Aunt Alexandra."

"No, you didn't," he said. "You were talking to Mr. Raymond about Tom Robinson's case, weren't you?"

"Yes, sir," I admitted.

"I told you, Scout, there are some things in this world better left unknown and unsaid. Mr. Raymond violated that unwritten rule. He even tried to tell me himself what happened."

"What did you say?"

"Well, Scout, I told him what I'm telling you now. It is not my place, nor anyone else's, to know the details of the deliberation and then question the judgment of others. The members of the jury were human, Scout. People with flaws and imperfections. Some even with prejudices. For us to look at their decision and then pass our own judgment on them would be wrong. They were appointed to serve as jurors, and whatever decision they made, however wrong you may think it is, was made by humans. Do you understand?"

"I think I do, Atticus," I said.

"Good. Now let's go home. Your Aunt Alexandra and Calpurnia are bound to be worrying about us."

"Atticus," I looked at him, "do you think Mr. Raymond is a bad person for eavesdropping on the jury?"

"No, Scout, I don't. He's got a good heart. A little misguided, but he's got a good heart. He's also not everything he makes himself out to be, and maybe when you're older you'll understand more about him."

"You just gotta stand in his shoes to know what it's like to be him, right, Atticus?"

"That's right, Scout," he smiled, and swept me up into his arms. I hoped he'd never let go.

Walking home that Saturday, I wondered what I'd ever do without my father, Atticus.

END


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